


The Gladiator's Wife

by DarthFucamus



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Violence, Multiple Orgasms, Name Changes, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: A series of short vignettes from Quintus Sertorius's life as a farmer in ancient Rome.





	The Gladiator's Wife

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt the need to write him at a happy time in his life.

“You are mine, now, Gladiator,” she said, flashing a stunning smile that glowed in the firelight. “I own you.”

Quintus towered in her threshold, pale chest gleaming in the light of her firepit.

“Do you know what you purchased?” he asked, eyes like knife points. He took a step in, and though she’d seen him in the arena and in the pits, having him in her home was far different. Dangerous. Exciting.

“The legendary Barbarian,” she said, never letting her smile waver. “The champion of the arena.”

Her eyes traveled over his broad chest to his firm belly and garment-swaddled loins.

“I am not like other men,” he said. He’d seen her look to his loins. Her embarrassment was brief. Why should she be ashamed? He was her property, now. Hers to do with as she pleased. Her eyes moved back toward his face, lingering on the ornamental whirls in the flesh of his throat.

“I am counting on it,” she said, unable to keep the huskiness of desire out of her voice when she met his eyes again. He walked toward her, his confident stride long, until he stood before her, looking down.

“The question is,” she said, biting her lip and venturing to reach a hand and touch his chest. It was cool. “Do you have the same desires as other men?”

A broad, white hand gripped her upper arm. With Quintus's heavy-lidded eyes and the first hint of an animal snarl on his upper lip, she had her answer enough. Her stomach trembled.

A small sound came behind her and Quintus’s eyes were no longer on her.

“Mother, I can’t sleep,” the soft, scratchy voice of a little girl said. Startled, Cassia turned.

“Marcella where did you come from? You are supposed to be at Fabia’s tonight.”

Cassia’s face flushed bright red, considering what the seven-year-old had interrupted, but she left Quintus and went to her daughter all the same.

“I came home because Fabia wouldn’t share her dolls with me. And Aquila and Caelia said my hair smelled like slave spit so I slapped them both and Fabia’s mother sent me home. I thought I could be quiet, and you wouldn’t know I was here but all I can think about is what Aquila and Caelia said.” The girl’s recounting of the evening came out in a flood, and by the end of it, she looked on the verge of tears. Cassia sighed and pulled Marcella into a hug.

“Oh, my sweet… your hair doesn’t smell, but you shouldn’t have walked home by yourself,” Cassia said, irritated on her daughter’s behalf for the prejudice. Her past never entirely left her, no matter her husband’s fame or standing. The whispers of the parents often trickled down to little ears all the same.

Sandaled footsteps approached behind her, and Quintus’s broad, pale shape came and knelt before the little girl, expression solemn. He took her head in both of his large hands and brusquely brought her crown to his nose. He gave a long, exaggerated sniff and shook his head.

“I smell... flowers and sunshine,” he said before drawing a second, equally as excessive. By then Marcella was giggling. “And little girls who should be sleeping. Aquila and Caelia were incorrect, their sense of smell cannot be trusted.”

Marcella smiled, sniffed once more, and nodded, and by the time Quintus planted a quick peck on the top of her head, her mood had taken an about-face for the better. Cassia gave Quintus a grateful look and a tired smile. Their night of romance would have to be delayed, but it was alright. Once the girl was sleeping, they could enjoy a more… conventional passion.

\----

Quintus liked to feed on Cassia’s inner thigh above all other places, intimate by its very location and nature, but according to him, the most desirable blood could be had after orgasm.

He was very skilled when it came to sweetening her taste, though sometimes he did it with no intention of feeding from her afterward. His soul seemed as nourished by her enjoyment as his body was by her blood.

As now.

“Quintus, please give me a moment… I’ll be praying to the Gods today in person at this rate,” Cassia said between panted breaths. He gave her an unmoved look from between her thighs that communicated his disinterest in acquiescing. He lifted his head, his lower face slick with her moisture, enough that she could see his worm slipping back into its berth between his lips. Fully capable of piercing skin, his unique anatomy was also suited for more delicate uses, which he was happy to demonstrate with shameless frequency.

He planted an almost chaste kiss on her inner thigh. A fresh morning breeze rustled the curtains in the main bedchamber and birds had begun to wake. Marcella would be up soon, calling for breakfast, and Cassia hadn’t slept a moment. Quintus had made sure of that.

“I’ll agree to a brief reprieve, Cassia... but I am, to my core, a student. I intend to find out if one can truly die from coming too many times,” he said, delivering the humor with a straight face as always. Cassia was quite adept at reading his moods, though, and felt a joyful and lurid curl in her belly.

“I’m nearly there, my love,” Cassia said, laughing breathlessly. Her entire body, soaked with sweat, glistened in the light of predawn.

He was merciless and continued planting careful kisses up her inseam, and awakening sated nerves still slick with the fruits of his previous efforts. She stroked his scalp and marveled that he was cold and dry, not a drop of sweat on him that wasn’t hers. Sometimes it made her feel disgusting beside him, but then he seemed to like every aspect of her.

“I suppose we can continue this another time,” he said, pulling his body up from where he’d been nested in the crook of her thighs for most of the night. He held himself above her, but close enough that his entire front touched hers and he could feel her breathing hard beneath him. “You should rest.”

“Marcella-“

“I will take care of her. You need not worry. The festival can wait until midday.”

Cassia smiled, holding her husband’s naked back and looking into his pale eyes.

“You spoil me, my love,” she said in a whisper. Her heart swelled to look upon him and feel his body over hers like this, a dream she’d never thought would be hers. “Truly I am the luckiest woman in all of Rome.”

“Not half so fortunate as I,” he said with narrow intensity, touching her face. As always when she expressed how grateful she was that he was in her life, he only returned the sentiment with a shadow of sadness.

They lay together while dawn lightened the window frame until her heart stopped pounding and her sweat cooled. And though she so loved the physical pleasures she shared with him, she treasured more the quiet moments. Quintus spoke of the harvested goods he’d bring to the festival while stroking her dark hair, the skein of silk he would buy her for a new dress, the diligence of the new hired hand that had been helping him in the fields, and Cassia drifted into a blissful sleep to the soothing rumble of his voice, feeling like a calf fatted on mother’s milk.

\----

For their anniversary that year, she surprised him with a new cloak, which she had made from a soft, durable wool and had lined with the Chinese gold silk left from her dress. It was a beautiful piece of clothing, a vibrant and rare crimson edged in embroidered silk thread, and wouldn’t have been out of place draped over the shoulders of a patrician. On her husband’s back, however, his majesty rivaled that of the great Caesar himself.

Quintus examined it deliberately, studying every stitch and hand-embroidered design, offering a thorough compliment for her every effort, before hanging it carefully from a coat hook. Then he went to his wife, seized her in his arms, and with her hands clutching his head and back, brought her into the bedroom.

Cassia was already kissing him before he moved above her like a fierce wave. She licked his skin and kissed, and when his lips and teeth responded in like, his hands worked to disrobe himself. Cassia’s heart leaped as she grasped at him, for she knew what he intended.

When they made love, it was most often done with his mouth between her legs, employing the use of his fingers or the great worm in his throat. Other methods were more rare, though no less enjoyable.

They had discussed the matter before, that while her husband was capable of the act of sex, he didn’t crave it, and he could never seed her with child. And ultimately, his deepest satisfaction came through feeding, and through pleasing her. Still, Cassia had never fully been able to abandon her desire for that sort of intimacy. To be able to look in his eyes as he filled her, or to feel his hot breath on her ear from behind, his hands free to roam her body while he moved against and into her was what she craved above all else.

Once, the act had meant nothing to her. It was just another way that her body could belong to another. But with Quintus…

He brought himself out, but though he was rigid with want, he first planted kisses on her neck and spoke lowly of sweet and carnal things. He used his hands to stir the embers between her thighs, and only when she was shuddering and slick did he seek to root himself. His size was formidable in that respect, and the first ache was always the sweetest. No matter what he said, his soft intake of air and the way his firm fingers tightened in the soft meat of her hip made it clear that he enjoyed this nearly as much as she did. And combined with the fact that he had near boundless stamina… it meant that the first orgasm wouldn’t be the last.

She had used her mouth on him, too, though the act seemed more for her benefit than his. When he gazed down upon her with his mouth parted and intense affection in his sharp eyes, cradling her face, Cassia felt the most fulfilled, the most complete. She’d never been able to make him come with her mouth only, but she still thought it vital to give of herself to him in a wholly selfless way as that. Well, nearly selfless. By the time he’d inevitably insist that he give her his affection in return, she was often more than ready.

Quintus swelled and pushed above her, swift and regular as breakers before a storm, and when his worm emerged as though encouraged by their passions, Cassia bared her throat to feel its wet, fleshy tendrils grip toothlessly over her vein. He would never feed from somewhere so visible, and never without her permission. But the feel of his muscular, slavering organ against her vulnerable neck provoked the same excitement she felt when viewing a wild predator from a safe vantage.

He was her lion, and his beauteous savagery was kept well at bay unless needed to protect the ones he loved… but she couldn’t think about that. Not now, not with her husband joined with her, fucking her into an incoherent sweaty mess while he said such delicious things that one could never repeat outside of the marriage bed.

It was just them tonight, with her sister’s family hosting Marcella in their villa, and Cassia didn’t stifle her appreciation as her body seized exquisitely again and again. By the time Quintus relented to his own end, Cassia had energy enough only lay there beneath him and let his impotent seed fill her in surges. Strange, how warm it was when compared to the rest of him, and she wondered if his deathless body conserved what heat it possessed to bestow upon her this one, hot pleasure.

Her Quintus, alert and animated, was too polite as he lay there beside her, stroking her damp cheek.

“Take from me what you need, my love,” she said with a breathless smile, holding his hand to her face. “You have more than earned it.”

He took her hand in his and kissed her palm, and then he moved down her reclining form, leaving a trail of caresses over her breasts and belly. Cassia parted her legs, touching his smooth crown.

The familiar sting came, followed by the throbbing warmth and she settled into a relaxed, drowsy state, stroking his scalp as his strange chirruping sounds, and wet suckling filled the bedchamber. He was never impatient, never unmannered in the act of feeding, and he never took more than he needed. And afterward, he’d apply the aloe paste for her and wrap her thigh. These intimate wounds always healed quickly, but Cassia still sometimes found herself touching them without thought when she was alone.

\----

Marcella was a precocious child, and more willful than many of the boys her same age thanks in part to her adoptive father’s “play” lessons with wooden swords. She had learned nobility from him as well, and a sense of confidence that sometimes led her to trouble.

Marcella came to Cassia’s workshop with bloodied knees and angry tears one off-market day after having been left to play with her friends. Cassia paused in fitting fabric to a dummy to listen to a fervent tale of bullies and injustices and a physical altercation with children older than her.

“I made his nose bloody and he pushed me down but I threw a rock and hit in in the eye, and now he’s going to tell his father and-” Marcella spoke without pausing for breath and Cassia quieted her as she sponged off her wounds with a damp rag.

“His father?” she asked. Marcella nodded, and mixed in with the general emotional upset was a good dose of fear. Cassia knew of the fathers of the boys she’d encountered, and they were of the same ilk as their vile offspring. If she ever encountered them, it was unpleasant and laced with underhanded comments about her background, or her husband’s peculiar nature and appearance.

“They’re going to kill Father,” she said as the tears started coming again. She was wholly unconcerned with her wounds, and instead with the wellbeing of Quintus. Imagine, a little girl worrying for a grown man, let alone one whose attributes set him well above the ability of other men. It served only to show how thoroughly he had earned a place in her daughter’s heart. Cassia took Marcella’s arms and looked her in the eye.

With a firm voice and a reassuring smile, Cassia told her, “You need not worry for your father. He is more than capable of protecting himself, and us. All you need to do is worry about being safe. Now, get yourself cleaned up, and play with your friends somewhere else, away from those beasts.”

Marcella nodded, reassured, and her look of worry changed to plain satisfaction.

“You should have heard him cry after that rock hit him,” Marcella said with a wicked smirk. “He sounded like a little baby.”

\----

That evening after dinner, she talked with Quintus while Marcella played in the garden. Their discussion which regarded taking action against the parents of the bullies, was cut short when Marcella shouted from outside.

Cassia rushed to find Marcella while Quintus grabbed his bone sword from its sheath, always kept nearby.

In the distance, they could see smoke rising in the outer edges of their wheat fields.

“Take Marcella, get the magistrate,” he said to Cassia. He sounded perfectly calm, but deadly serious, and Cassia knew not to argue. She scooped her daughter into her arms and retrieved her mare from the stable. She mounted her without a saddle, with Marcella held in front of her, and she left South in the opposite direction of the smoke.

They didn’t get far on the road through the South field before she heard the sounds of shouting ahead and what sounded like a multitude of violently boisterous men. Realizing both routes were cut off, and not knowing where more men could be, she returned to find Quintus running to meet them.

“They’ve surrounded the farm, they are burning the fields. Take her inside and hide.” He spoke in the same urgently steady voice, and with his eyes wide and piercing the horizon and his stance tense but calm, Cassia didn’t fear.

She took Marcella inside and moved the kitchen rug, and ushered her into the root cellar through the trap door. Inside, she held her daughter, rocking and singing softly until her violent trembling lessened and her whimpering became muted hiccups.

She didn’t know the details of what happened out there. All she knew was that when she heard Quintus’s deep voice calling her name some time later, she came alone through the door and saw that he had ash and blood smeared over his marble white face and arms. He was no less composed, and he told her, steadily, that it was safe, and that she was to take Marcella with her to retrieve the magistrate and to not return until without him and a number of centurions.

Cassia nodded and cupped his soot-smeared cheek. It was warm, as though he’d fed, though not from her.

She didn’t see him as she gathered the horse and her daughter, and she knew that he hadn’t wanted to frighten the girl with his appearance. She also knew that he had killed, or immobilized, whoever had threatened them so.

They never spoke of what Quintus and the lawmen had discussed while Cassia occupied Marcella with stories. Not until much later did he speak of it at all, when Marcella was not able to overhear. And then, she suspected that he gave her a partial account of what had happened while she and her daughter hid in the cellar. It was okay with her. He was judged faultless and was compensated for his lost crops, while the men that survived met punishment according to their crime. She trusted her husband more than any other on this earth. He was honorable, and any violence committed by him would have been out of necessity. And, if someone had earnestly meant her and her family harm, Cassia couldn’t deny a bit of pleasure in thinking that they had suffered dearly for it.

That night, Cassia and Quintus let Marcella sleep between them, and as her daughter slept peacefully, she and her husband stayed awake. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to let her out of his sight, and she was glad enough to remain within it. They didn’t speak, but between them, nothing needed to be said aloud.

They spoke well enough through the touch of his fingers in her dark hair and the tired, contented smile that didn’t want to leave the corners of her mouth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have only seen the TV show, and looked up as much info on this time period that I could, but found little. As such, I took liberties with the names.  
> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!!


End file.
